


LUST

by allionmars



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Boys Kissing, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 10:32:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5782942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allionmars/pseuds/allionmars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The newly titled Inquisitor has a responsibility that rivals his attraction to a certain mage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	LUST

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while back for my best friend's Trevelyan, Medarin. Honestly, it can be Levellan I don't really care... Inspired by how ugly I thought the pajamas were. They're still growing on me. Also I really love Dorian.

"I can imagine being leader of the Inquisition has it's perks... This outfit they assigned to you, is not one of them." Dorian spoke from his cushioned reading chair, head resting in his palm with fingers pressed to his temple in distaste. Medarin stood before him, tugging down on the grey garment with one hand and another running down the silver latches.

  
"I don't mind it. Josephine told me it looks 'handsomely intelligent'." The newly titled Inquisitor smiled gently, looking down to the thin nugskin boots.  
Surely, a boy coming from such a noble family could tell the difference between the revolting grays of nugskin and the stirring yellows of plaidweave, however the style of the wear wasn't what enticed him. The pajamas stood for something far greater than animal pelts. Medarin was the leader of a growing force. When people gazed upon him they felt hope. He was the hero of a generation, but all he could feel was fear.

  
Dorian cocked an eyebrow, "Josephine has been in the wilderness for far too long." He rose from his chair, eyes meeting a spot on Medarin's chest. His face softening as he chuckled, "Perhaps the problem is that the Inquisitor cannot latch a tunic properly."  
Medarin's head snapped downward and noticed one of the dozens of silver latches misplaced, sticking out oddly amongst the rest. "Damn..." He muttered, reaching to his tunic only to be stopped by Dorian's hand.

  
"Please, we wouldn't want to habilitate your 'intelligent' physique anymore than you just have from trotting around the rotunda with a misplaced button."  
Medarin coughed into his fist, his face flushing from the Tevinter's words. "Right." He breathed, tilting his chin to the atrium as Dorian reached for the first latch at the base of his neck. Swiftly and soundlessly Dorian unhooked the silver from Medarin's neck to his naval where the mismatched latch lived. Dorian paused his work for a moment, sending a brief chill through the Inquisitor as warm fingers trailed against his exposed skin. Medarin peered down, surprised to see Dorian examining a lustrous scar cutting across his torso.

  
Dorian swallowed hard, blinking feverishly as he started hooking the latches almost twice as fast as before, "I'm- sorry Inquisitor... That was rather out of place for me. I wouldn't have-"

  
"That was left after we defeated Alexius. I am not sure where it came from. Perhaps an injury evoked from traveling time." Medarin spoke, his nerves on fire as his voice ran quickly, spouting useless information. His head felt light. Frustration built at the Tevinter's smooth actions.

  
Dorian smirked, finishing the last of the latches. "Maybe it was a forgotten mistake. Over exposure to red lyrium does tend to offer... hallucinogenic side effects." Medarin released a weak laugh that echoed off the stone walls. He watched Dorian carefully as they both stood in the abandoned library. Walls of empty shelves waiting to be filled by the Inquisition's arrival. Dorian's lips moved senselessly, the man wishing to break the silence but finding nothing to say.

  
Medarin knew no one was watching, but fought every last nerve in his being from reaching out to the mage, to express himself without lustful words and hinting remarks.  
He couldn't. He had the responsibility of an army on his back. "Medarin," Dorian spoke, only above a whisper, his hand grasping the edge of the Inquisitor's garment, "If I'm to be fighting under any name, I'm glad it to be yours." Medarin felt drawn to the man, not only by his words but by Dorian's soft pull against the nugskin.

  
He felt the same chill as he did minutes ago while the buttons of his tunic were being unlatched. A hot hand press against his hip, edging him. Dorian leaned into him, pressing his lips against the muscles of Medarin's neck. The Inquisitor released his breath at the trailing kisses and prickle of the mage's mustache.

  
He felt a strange spirit magic flowing into his skin from Dorian's mouth. It was like the soft music that played in the Orliasian court, but bit at his skin like The Bull's mysterious liquor. This magic slithered through his being, making his head hot and his knees weak. The hands that held his hips pushed him back against the shelves, causing his arms to grasp the man, only wanting his burning energy against him.

  
"Inquisitor." Dorian said against Medarin's jaw, moving his head back to look at him, eyes seeking his permission. Medarin kissed Dorian, forcefully and wonderfully, and the intelligible mage was taken aback by his immediate answer. Medarin felt the magic stronger, seeping into his mouth and filling his senses with the rousing taste of it. They broke their kiss, watching each other with baited breath.

  
Templars were an easy kill compared to the lust the Tevinter planted.


End file.
